


Angry Proclamations of Love

by qwertybob



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-The Raven King, Romance, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish Fluff, The Raven King Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertybob/pseuds/qwertybob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Adam hasn't had enough experience with how it feels when someone loves you, Ronan accepts the responsibility to teach the student a couple of lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angry Proclamations of Love

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: A lot of people were not happy with this fic because of issues regarding the treatment of past abuse (victim blaming and victim isolation are the biggest issues). I have made some changes, but there will undoubtedly still be issues with it. Please read at your own risk.
> 
> UPDATE: After 24 hours since posting, I have been told that this fic is now a center of backlash, which really sucks in so many ways. I've considered taking it down, but I've ultimately decided to leave the fic up despite people's dislike (absolute hatred) of parts of this fic. If anything, let the comment section be used to teach others to take more care than I did in how they deal with matters of abuse because there were a lot of valid points brought up. I sincerely regret some of my choices and have learned a lot. 
> 
> Let this also be a cautionary tale to NOT FUCK WITH THE FANDOM. They will come after you with flaming swords and pointy little knives. Thank you for keeping me in line.

The first and only time Ronan gave him a blow job, Adam had just woken up from a dream where dream-Ronan had just finished doing just that. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see if it felt as good in real life as it did in the dream. When Ronan was finished, Adam wasn’t even sure if he was still dreaming or not, so he returned the favor, enthusiastically, and confirmed that yes, indeed, the sounds Ronan was making were very, very real.

Since then, Ronan hasn’t had his mouth on Adam’s cock—but not for Ronan’s lack of trying. Every time he starts moving in that direction, Adam hauls him up to his mouth and kisses him, before Adam trails down Ronan’s chest and sucks him off instead. Then, as Ronan is staring blissfully at the ceiling, Adam retreats to the bathroom, masturbates furiously, and takes a shower.

This Saturday morning though, as Adam pulls him back up for a kiss, Ronan pulls back, forcing Adam to open his eyes and glare at the sudden lack of contact. “What are you doing?” Adam protests, “get over here.”

Ronan is on his knees between Adam’s legs, arms crossed over his bare chest and an angry frown on his face. “Why the fuck won’t you let me blow you, Parrish?”

Adam nearly chokes. “What?”

Ronan’s neck is red, but his expression remains unchanged. “Don’t make me fucking say it again. You heard me.”

Adam tries to reach for Ronan’s arm, but Ronan shifts away from him, sitting on his heels and waiting for a fucking answer. Adam suddenly feels exposed, lying on the bed in front of a pissed-off Ronan, which is ridiculous because both of them have been in their boxers since yesterday night.

“Ronan.” Adam feels too hot and he wants to jump into a cold shower, away from Ronan’s glare. “I don’t need that from you.”

Ronan’s eyebrows furrow, anger sparking in his blue eyes. “Need? Need or want, Parrish?”

Adam flushes. Obviously he _wants_ it, but he doesn’t _need_ it—but Adam knows saying that will just make Ronan angrier, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I hear you every time you go into the bathroom, Parrish. What—am I not enough to get you off that you have to go do it yourself in the shower?”

Adam sits up and meets Ronan’s eye. He reaches out to put his hand on Ronan’s chest, but Ronan pushes him away _again_ , and now it’s Adam who feels like he’s been denied.

“Lynch, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? Because we’ve fucked plenty of times, and you’ve blown me too many times for me to keep track—”

“Eighteen,” Adam says immediately.

Ronan’s eyes widen. “What the fuck? You’ve been counting?”

 _Yes_.

“No.”

“Jesus Christ.” Ronan rubs a hand over his face. “Do I even want to know why—Jesus. Christ. Parrish. Why have I only done it once if you’ve gone down on me _eighteen_ times? Is there something wrong with my mouth?”

Adam almost smiles, but he bites it down because Ronan is obviously pissed. “I think you know there isn’t, Ronan.”

Ronan deflects with a grunt. “Then tell me why you won’t let me blow you.”

This time Adam does laugh, refusing to let Ronan push him away as he puts his hands on Ronan’s shoulders and trails his fingers over Ronan’s collarbone. Ronan inhales sharply and resets his glare. “I can’t believe you’re mad about this.”

Ronan pushes one of Adam’s hands off half-heartedly. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s concerning when your—” he grits his teeth, bracing himself “— _boyfriend_ won’t let you give him a blow job. Do you not like that? Because I’m pretty sure the last, and _only_ time you let me, you were having a grand old time. Something about being in ‘paradise’, or some shit.”

Adam feels the flush in his cheeks and lets his hand trail down Ronan’s chest to grip his forearm. His thumb moves absently against Ronan’s arm and Ronan takes a deep breath. “Ronan—”

“Don’t try to distract me,” Ronan says, softly, removing Adam’s hand from his arm. “If you don’t like it, fine, just tell me that. But if it’s something else...” Ronan looks away and pulls himself off the bed. Adam feels hollow in his chest. “Just, tell me what you want, Adam. Or rather, what you _don’t_ want.” Then Ronan goes to take a shower, leaving Adam on the bed, cold and raw.

Ronan doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the day. He goes outside with Opal to do some stuff in the barn, and Adam stays inside to finish some homework. It’s one of those rare Saturdays where he doesn’t have to work until the afternoon, and he had been looking forward to his morning with Ronan and Opal, but neither of them want to have anything to do with him.

Opal comes inside before Adam has to leave for work and gives him a soft frown. “ _Quid accidit_?” _What happened?_

“I don't know,” Adam says. Opal eyes him carefully, and Adam is reminded that she is a dream creature—that she always appeared whenever Ronan had a nightmare. Other times, too, but most reliably when the bird men were coming to get him. Adam can see the careful way she appraises him, as if she needs to start protecting Ronan from him as well, but instead, she softly plods forward and rests a hand on his arm before returning outside to her dreamer. 

Adam doesn’t say goodbye to either of them as he leaves for work, angry and frustrated and wanting for all of this to be over. He hates fighting with Ronan. He isn’t even sure why Ronan is angry at him in the first place. It’s not like it’s reversed and Adam is withholding blow jobs from Ronan—that, he would understand. But this doesn’t make sense.

Since he gets off work before dinner, the group decides to meet at Nino’s. Adam gets there before Ronan does, and sits across Gansey, Blue and Henry, who are all packed into the bench like fish in a barrel. They immediately note Adam’s mood and leave him mostly alone.

When Ronan arrives, he stands beside the table, refusing to look at Adam or sit down next to him. He nudges Gansey’s arm. “Move. I want to sit there.”

Gansey blinks and glances at Adam. Adam neatly looks away, clenching his hands into fists under the table. “Why?”

“Because I want to sit next to Sargent, is there a fucking problem?” he hisses and Gansey stands cautiously, smart enough not to deny Ronan in this mood. Ronan takes Gansey’s place on the bench and Blue puts a concerned hand on his arm, which he swiftly brushes off. Adam’s chest feels like lead.

No one speaks as Opal slides into the bench next to Gansey and starts chewing on her fork. Gansey promptly pulls it from her mouth as the food arrives. None of them speak.

“Jesus,” Henry says, clearing his throat. “Trouble in Pynch hell?”

“Fuck off, Cheng,” Adam says, but without much venom. Only a little.

Blue isn’t quite glaring, but there is something fearsome in her expression that makes Adam wince. She turns to him, not because she assumes it's his fault, but because he is the most likely to provide an answer. “What happened?”

He hardly thinks it’s appropriate to tell them the real reason why Ronan is mad at him, especially when Gansey is sitting right next to him, and their friends definitely aren’t going to let this go without some sort of explanation. So Adam thinks of another excuse. Something that exemplifies the same sentiment behind the argument and is dinner-table appropriate.

“He’s mad because I wouldn’t let him buy me dinner yesterday.”

Close enough.

All eyes are on Adam, but he can only see one pair. A pair so angry, he almost flinches back in surprise. He hasn’t seen Ronan glare like that, with that much malice, since before...God, he can’t even remember the last time Ronan looked at him like that. Did he ever? To other people, plenty of times, but never at _Adam_.

Shit.

“Seriously, Parrish?” Ronan hisses, and this time Adam does flinch. “That’s what this is about? Your goddamn pride? Jesus Christ. You’re a fucking asshole.”

Ronan stands from the table and stalks out of the restaurant as other patrons turn to stare. Opal follows him out, her head hung as she sends a small look of—what, sadness? Apology?—at Adam, which hurts just as much as Ronan’s anger, but differently.

The words echo in his unhearing ear. _Goddamn pride. A fucking asshole_.

“Jesus Christ. Overreaction, much?” Henry whispers and Blue elbows him hard in the gut, but the frown on her face says she agrees with Henry's assessment.

Adam wants to run away or perhaps run to Ronan, but Gansey is blocking the bench. Adam still can’t look him in the eye.

“Gansey, move.”

“Gansey, stay,” Blue says, but Gansey doesn’t need to be told because he’s too busy swivelling his head back and forth between Ronan’s retreating back and Adam on the bench to move anywhere.

“Adam,” Blue starts, but he cuts her off.

“I don’t need a lecture, all right? This is between me and Ronan, and if Gansey would _move_ , I would be able to go talk to him about it, privately—”

“Adam,” Gansey says, and that's it. Adam doesn't look at him, but he is reminded of the night when he told Gansey about the Kiss and Gansey asked him not to hurt Ronan. Adam squeezes his eyes shut. Gansey is more careful with his words now, but Adam still feels like he can read the sentiment behind the one word he said.

“I’m not trying to hurt him, okay?” Adam says, even though no one overtly accused him of anything. “Look, it’s not just about— _dinner._  It’s that Ronan has so much, and he gives so much—hell, I’m practically living at his place, and we haven’t even talked about that, not really—and he’s always doing nice things for me all the time. And—and I feel like I’m not giving enough! Like all I do is _take_ from him, and it makes me feel like a complete shit, so no, I don’t need him to _pay for my dinner_ because he already does too much for me already. I feel like I’m drowning in how much I can’t do for him in return. It’s not about my goddamn pride, it’s about feeling like I’m not putting enough into this relationship. Okay? Jesus Christ.”

He’s breathing heavily and all his friends are staring at him like he’s gone insane, and he knows they’re not that far from being right. Adam wants to run away, but another volley of words expels from his chest before he can stop it.

“And after he gives me something, like this really amazing gift that I did nothing to deserve, he just moves _on_ , without waiting for a thank-you or acknowledgement for his kindness. He just tosses a gift at me like he’s passing me the salt at dinner, as if it’s completely normal behavior to make someone’s life better and then walk away. How can he just give things away like that and not feel it? Why can’t he just stop giving for five seconds? I want to thank him properly, to give something in return, but it’s as impossible as fighting a waterfall.”

It feels so good to get this off his chest that he can’t stop, even though he knows he’s in a crowded restaurant, and that everyone is staring. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this angry or desperate. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s spoken this many words in a single two-minute period.

“And he’s always humming! When he’s in the kitchen, or mowing the lawn, or whatever the fuck else you need to do to take care of a farm, he’s always just humming under his breath and it drives me insane. I want to kiss him every time, because _goddammit_ , if it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I have to close my eyes and listen because I can’t concentrate on anything else when he does it, and sometimes, I swear to God, it can make me hear things in my deaf ear. It makes me so goddamn angry because he’s not even doing anything substantial! He’s just going about his day, doing mundane activities, and yet it makes me feel so—so...so _much_.”

God, Adam is _obsessed_. And he’s not even done yet.  

“And you should just see how he is with Opal. I don’t—” Adam’s throat feels tight and he pulls at his hair. “God, he’s just—they’re just— _perfect_. They’re perfect. There’s no other word for it. It hurts to look at them together. It hurts because I know I’m not a part of it, but they _make_ me part of it anyway, as if I was always there with them from the start. It makes no fucking sense.”

Adam can’t even remember why he started shouting in the first place, but now that the fire has died down and his vision has stopped swimming, all he can see are stunned expressions on the faces of strangers and his friends.

Hot embarrassment floods his cheeks when the reality of what he just did catches up to him: He just stood in the middle of Nino’s and professed his love for Ronan Lynch. Whether or not he actually said the word _love_ —he didn’t, did he?—doesn’t matter because he couldn’t have made it any more obvious.

Adam exhales all the air in his body and somehow, there are still words left inside of him. “I just wanted to eat a slice of pizza and to talk to Ronan _privately_ about our _private problems_ , but y’all made me hang out our dirty laundry all over the fucking restaurant. Are you happy now? Jesus Christ.”

Henry clears his throat, his robot bee hovering close to his ear. “You and Lynch are so nauseatingly in love with each other, it’s adorable. But also terrifying.” 

Adam is already furiously red, but Henry’s words make him redder. The anger has long faded, but the embarrassment is plenty strong enough to make him want to hit something. He turns to Gansey. “Gansey, _move_.”

Gansey stands up, but he puts his hand on Adam’s shoulder before he can walk away. “Adam, let me give you a—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Gansey. I can drive myself home.”

He leaves the restaurant and nearly runs to his car, slamming the door shut and swearing when it rattles horribly. He clenches the wheel and leans his head against his hands. The passenger door opens and closes, and he smells Blue’s fragrance, like a mix of spices, incense and wildflowers. Like Persephone used to smell.

“Adam,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

“You don’t have to say anything, Blue. I know.”

“Okay, but I’m going to say it anyway because you need to hear it said out loud.”

Adam grits his teeth.

“Ronan loves you.”

Of all the things Adam expected to hear— _That was an overreaction, everyone was staring at you, that was quite the rousing speech, Adam_ —‘Ronan loves you,’ was not one of them. Something like pain rips through his chest.

“He does. He loves you. Okay? And it’s obvious you love him back, so whatever the problem is, it'll all work out. Like Henry said, you’re both so love with each other, it’s nauseating.”

Adam squeezes his hands against the wheel. “He looked so angry.”

In Adam’s experience, that level of anger usually comes with punches. And in Adam’s experience, there is _never_ any love behind that level of anger or behind those punches. Ronan is not his father—thank fucking Jesus Christ—but Adam doesn’t have experience with anger motivated by love. He doesn’t think such a thing is possible.

“Ronan's an idiot."

"I don't understand why he's so angry in the first place. It's not like—it's not like I refused to buy him dinner."

Blue sighs. "Gansey is the same. It doesn't make sense, but I think it's because they grew up with money. They think that's the most obvious way to show someone they love them—by giving them things. By not letting him pay for your dinner, it was like you were rejecting his love. It’s like he was giving you a kiss and you gave him the finger and said, ‘I can kiss myself.’”

Adam flushes at how close Blue is to the truth. “That’s stupid.”

“I told you he was an idiot, but you knew what you were getting yourself into when you fell in love with the Snake.”

After a long silence, Adam exhales. “It wasn’t about dinner.”

Blue squeezes his shoulder again. "Whatever it was about, I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

Adam lifts his head and sighs. “Please get out of my car, Blue. I need to go fix this.”

Would he even be able to though? Just because he knows the ship is leaking, doesn’t mean he knows where to start patching the holes.

“Tell Ronan that he's being an idiot for me.”

“Tell Gansey and Henry sorry for me.”

“Tell them yourself.”

“Blue, thanks.”

Blue kisses him on the cheek and leaves the car.

When Adam arrives at the Barns, even the BMW looks angry at him, and he wonders if he should just sleep at St. Agnes tonight. He doesn’t even remember when he last spent more than a few hours at his apartment. Ronan asked once, if Adam still planned on keeping the lease, and Adam said yes, and then they never spoke about it again.

Adam gets out of the chair and finds Opal in the living room, drawing complex designs on some paper with charcoal. She smiles at him, and that hurts, so he wraps his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says against her hair.

"Did you do something wrong?" 

Adam doesn't know. 

"Then don't apologize. Kerah is upstairs,” she says softly, mostly ignoring him as she continues to draw.

“How mad is he?”

She shrugs. “ _Triste, non iratus_.”

_He’s sad, not angry._

Adam’s chest lurches.

He sighs and goes upstairs, pushing the door open to Ronan’s room. Part of him—the small, terrified, self-conscious part of him—braces himself for a physical fight, but the rational, logical part of him knows Ronan would never hurt him. Never, not even when Adam’s hands were squeezing the life out of him. That also hurts to think about, so he focuses on Ronan, here and now.

He’s lying in the dark, back towards Adam with the lines of his tattoo stark black against the sheets. Adam kicks off his shoes and gently climbs into the bed beside him. When Ronan doesn’t respond to that, Adam curls over onto his side and runs a finger along one of the curves of a claw, then a beak.

“Ronan?”

“Fuck off, Parrish.”

Adam shuffles closer, running his nose along the base of Ronan’s neck. His fingers continue to trace Ronan’s tattoo. He wants to wrap his arm around Ronan’s torso, but he’s too afraid of how much it’ll hurt if Ronan pushes him off.

“I’m sorry,” he says against Ronan’s neck. It’s not specific, but he tries to use it as a blanket apology. _I’m sorry I’m messed up. I’m sorry I’m stubborn. I’m sorry you’re mad._

They don’t move for a while, except for Adam’s fingers. Then Ronan reaches over his shoulder and grabs Adam’s hand. For a horrifying moment, Adam thinks Ronan is going to ask him to stop. But instead, Ronan pulls Adam’s hand forward and presses his fingers to his mouth. Adam sighs in relief and burrows himself closer to Ronan’s back. He kisses Ronan’s neck, over and over, until he feels Ronan relax under his lips.

“Cheng sent me the video.”

Adam opens his eyes. “What video?”

Ronan turns in the bed to face Adam. He still looks furious, but it’s the slow-burning kind, not the I’m-going-to-crash-my-car-into-a-telephone-pole kind, which Adam takes as an improvement.

“Cheng’s robot bee videotaped your outburst, Parrish. He sent me the explanation for why you won’t let me _buy you dinner_.”

Adam feels hysterical. He can’t believe this fight—the first fight they’ve had since the Kiss—is about something as ridiculous as blow jobs and how often they were not given. He also can’t believe Ronan heard all of those things he said, about how much he loves Ronan without actually saying the word _love_ , and something like panic pounds in his heart.

“Ronan—”

Ronan’s eyes are razor blades, his voice a bloody dagger. “Is that how you really feel? Like you’re _taking_ things from me because you sleep here and you eat here and I dream things for you?”

It takes Adam a moment to realize that Ronan is mad because of the explanation for ‘buying dinner’, and not about the other things Adam said.

“Lynch—”

“Does it feel like I’m _taking_ something from you when you get me off? Like I’m _stealing_ from you when we fuck?”

Adam flinches. His heart hurts. “No, of _course_ not—”

“So I don’t get it, Parrish! I don’t fucking understand what the problem is!”

Adam shuts his eyes. “Ronan—”

“Fuck!” Ronan launches himself off the bed. “If we’re going to be counting blow jobs, might as well count kisses, too, right? How many times have I kissed you, Parrish? How many times have _you_ kissed _me_? Are we even on the count there, or is there some sort of deficiency on either end? What about back massages? I think I’ve got one of you, so I guess _you owe me one_ , huh, Parrish? Is that what you want? For us to exchange goods and services like some sort of fucked up trading company?”

Jesus Christ. Adam feels like he’s been skinned and his exposed nerves are burning in acid. Is that what he was doing? Trading goods and services? He hadn’t meant—Jesus _Christ_. He had been counting blow jobs like they cost him something, always looking at the numbers on the cash register when Ronan never did. But Adam hadn’t meant it like that. He _likes_ getting Ronan off, bringing him pleasure, having Ronan cursing and praising his name at the same fucking time. It doesn’t _cost_ him anything to give Ronan pleasure, but somehow he had the same fucking impulse to keep track. To give, but never receive. Because taking too much just gets you hit.

Adam had been so starved from money and from intimate touches that he had unconsciously made the same fucked-up association between the two—that Adam was allowed to spend on other people, but no one was allowed to spend on him.

“Ronan—”

He expects Ronan to interrupt again, but when he doesn’t, Adam just stares at Ronan, and Ronan stares back, breathing heavily and looking like a boxer pressed against the ropes with nothing left to lose. Aggressive and desperate at the same time.

“Ronan, I’m sorry.” This time, he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, he just feels like he has to.

“Stop apologizing and tell me _why_.”

“I—” Adam rubs his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like he’s back in the trailer, every muscle clenched as his face hits the rough, worn-down carpet that smells like beer and piss. He feels like he is taking up too much space. Like he is taking up too much air. Like he is taking up too much of his parents’ already-scarce resources.

Even when he’s not trying to, all Adam does is take, take, take. Everything costs something, and if Adam takes too much, he would pay for it some other way.

The only thing Adam’s parents gave to him for free were their regrets and their fists.

“Adam.” 

He imagines curling himself into a ball to protect his vital organs. He imagines holding his breath so it won’t feel the sting as badly when it gets knocked out of him. He imagines raising his arms, but knowing it won’t do any good anyway.

When Ronan touches him gently on the shoulder, Adam flinches so badly that Ronan immediately backs off as if burned by Adam’s skin.

“Adam, Jesus. I’m sorry.”

Adam holds his shoulders to keep from shaking so goddamn much. He gasps in breaths and freezes when Ronan’s arms wrap around him, crushing him to his chest.

“You’re okay,” Ronan says urgently in his ear. “Adam, you’re fine. Just breathe.”

Adam squeezes his eyes shut and lets Ronan hold him, just like he did when the demon had his hands and his eyes. He feels cold everywhere Ronan body isn’t touching him. He shivers, but Ronan is a furnace. Giving him heat. Just giving, giving, giving—all the damn time. Even when he’s not even trying.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing, Adam,” Ronan says softly. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re fine. I’m a dumbass. I didn't know—Jesus, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled.”

The door opens and Opal climbs onto the bed with them, pressing her small hands against Adam’s back. Giving him her love. Even Ronan’s gift to the world can’t stop giving. Adam almost starts crying.

He presses his face deeper into Ronan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing,” Ronan says, his voice too soft. Like a gentle breeze, it knocks over Adam’s state of mind, more devastating than if Ronan had screamed instead. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have. I was wrong. I didn't think.”

“You were right though. I’m fucked up.”

Ronan squeezes him tighter, rests a strong hand against Adam’s head, fingers pressing into his scalp. “No. Not you.”

Opal presses her cheek between Adam’s shoulder blades, hands still resting against his back as Ronan holds his shoulders and his head.

Here, Adam is safe. Here, he doesn’t take anything that isn’t freely given. Here, he doesn’t take up too much space, or breathe too loudly, or exist without people _wanting_ him to.

Here, he is just Adam: a little fucked up, but loved anyway.

*** 

Adam wakes up squished between Opal and Ronan on the bed. His muscles hurt, like he had been clenching them all night while also suffering from the flu. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it’s morning now and Ronan stirs by his side.

“Adam,” he says, like he’s still dreaming, and he turns over to rest a heavy arm over Adam’s chest. Ronan burrows his face into Adam’s neck, his breath warm and soft against Adam’s skin.

Opal’s hand is holding his, but she, too, is asleep and warm, curled under his arm like a small dog. Her left hoof digs into his side a little, but he doesn’t care.

Adam lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling, warm from Ronan’s body, and wondering what the fuck he did to deserve this. There is no job that would pay enough for Ronan’s love, no extra hours of studying that would have gotten him top marks in Opal’s eyes, no amount of sleepless nights searching for a sleeping Welsh king who could have granted him this favor. It was just Ronan and Opal, a dreamer and a dream, giving him all these things he did nothing to earn. Making him part of their perfection. And he wants to give them everything he has in return, no matter how flawed.

“Adam,” Ronan says again, and though his voice is a whisper, Adam can tell Ronan is awake this time. “I love you.”

Adam closes his eyes and lets the sound of those words echo in the silence as Ronan’s lips trace his collarbone. He already knows the words are true—how could he not after everything Ronan has done for him? All of Ronan’s casual touches are loaded with meaning; he dreams up a deluge of useful things for Adam, anticipating his needs without even having to ask; and the way he smiles at him would all be enough proof. Even if Ronan never said those words out loud, Adam would have known anyway.  

But Adam doesn’t remember ever hearing those words said to him before. It feels like he’s discovered a whole new wavelength of color. The feeling in his chest is indescribable. Equal parts pain and pleasure, hope and regret, shame and euphoria, paradise and hell.

Adam never would have believed that hearing Ronan say _I love you_ could make such a difference when he already knew them to be true in his heart, but he is always being proven wrong. He should have known the strength in spoken words after being friends with Gansey for so long. He knows that you can summon sleeping kings by commanding it to happen. That you can wake the dead with a hushed whisper.

He should have known that you can fix a broken man with three simple words.

Adam’s heart races, and he wonders if Ronan can feel in. He reaches his hand up, the one not currently held in Opal’s, and grips Ronan’s arm firmly, turning his face to rest against Ronan’s cheek. Ronan freezes, as if he’s surprised that Adam is awake.

“Ronan.”

“What,” Ronan says, his voice barely a breath against Adam’s skin. Bated. Cautious. A hint of a challenge.

Adam swallows and closes his eyes. Just as those words were never said to him, he doesn’t think the words have ever left his lips either. He’s afraid it’ll come out wrong, like he’ll somehow forget how to pronounce three monosyllabic words and say them in the right order. He doesn’t know anything anymore, except that he _wants_ to say it back. He _needs_ to.

“I love you, too.”

Ronan smiles against his cheek and then moves his face out from Adam’s neck. They look at each other. Neither of them appear any different from yesterday, but Adam can’t stop staring at Ronan, and Ronan can’t stop staring at Adam. A new wavelength of color has been added to Adam’s spectrum and it casts everything in a new light.

“Are you going to freak out if I kiss you right now?” Ronan says, still using that soft voice that breaks Adam in half.

“No,” says Opal, blinking awake. “But I definitely will.”

She climbs onto Adam’s arm, kisses him on the cheek and looks at him firmly in the eye. The expression in her sharp eyes asks: _Are you okay?_ Adam nods numbly, swallowing another lump in his throat as she nuzzles her head against him and canters out of the room.

Ronan watches her go with a smirk, but before he can look back at Adam, Adam lifts his hand and pulls Ronan down for a kiss. Ronan’s words still echo in his hollow chest, making him warm and full of light. The kiss is so soft, everything he could ever want, but also not enough.

Ronan pulls back. His eyes are still closed, a small smile on his lips. Adam kisses him again—he can’t help himself.

“Adam,” Ronan says when he opens his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Actually, Adam can think of _a lot_ of things—

“Stop fucking thinking for one second,” Ronan interrupts. “Your shitty parents didn’t know how to love anything, so let me give you a quick fucking rundown.” Ronan swallows and looks away briefly before meeting Adam’s gaze again. His cheeks are pink, and Adam knows his are as well. His ears feel particularly warm.

“When you love someone,” Ronan says, too serious, “you do nice things for them. That’s lesson number 1. Not because I expect you to return the favor, but because _I fucking want to do it._ The favor has already been returned in full without you ever having to do anything. It doesn’t matter if I do a million nice things for you—you could do shit-all in return and I’d still love the fuck out of you. All right? Lesson number 2—”

“Ronan, honestly—”

“Don’t interrupt, Parrish. You’re the nerd in this relationship, so _pay attention_ because I am trying to teach you something. Lesson number 2: Do not use sex as some sort...payment—Jesus—for these non-existent favors because that’s fucking messed up. Okay?” Ronan looks vaguely ill as he rubs his forehead. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep with me because—”

“Ronan, for _fuck’s sake_ —”

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is hard enough without you interrupting. Don’t sleep with me unless you _want_ to. Do you understand, Parrish? Don’t do it because you think you need to do something nice for me, or because you want to pay me back, or some other fucked up shit reason like that. For fuck’s sake. I thought that was clear, you know, seeing as you’re not a prostitute _._ Fuck. I don’t even know what— _Jesus_ —”

“I wasn’t doing that,” Adam says, putting a hand on Ronan’s mouth to keep him from plowing through Adam’s interruption. He’s not sure if he should be angry or shamed or embarrassed or amused that Ronan compared him to a prostitute, but he quickly sweeps the feeling aside in order to straighten out the confusion. “I wasn’t selling myself to you to repay you for your kindness. Perhaps subconsciously, I’ll admit that, and I realize how fucked that is, but the important point is that I _like_ sleeping with you, Ronan.”

Ronan scowls under Adam’s hand, but his neck is red. Adam smiles a bit, but it’s quickly wiped away by the seriousness of the conversation. He continues, just to make sure Ronan understands that Adam is not prostituting himself.

“I like the noises you make. I like how your body feels. I like sucking you off. Okay? I don’t even know why the fuck I was counting—it was a reflex, to keep track of important things to make sure they don’t go missing, or something, I don’t know, but it doesn’t mean anything. Please don’t go all Freud on me. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t feel like you’re taking anything from me that I’m not willing to give already. Whole-heartedly.”

Ronan’s face matches the color of his neck, but he nods once. “Lesson number 4—”

Adam laughs, feeling like a weightless shimmer of light.

Ronan drops a kiss to the corner of Adam’s mouth, but continues as if it’s nothing. There was a time in their relationship when Ronan would have flustered for minutes after trying something that pleasantly telling, but Adam notes with a delighted flicker in his chest that this version of Ronan Lynch is entirely in his element now. It’s not the same Ronan Lynch Adam first met, and it’s probably not the Ronan Lynch from before Niall, either. It’s a new Ronan Lynch, one that is more whole and comfortable and loving and loved.

Don’t be fooled: Ronan Lynch is still a snake, but a snake that occasionally cuddles.

“Lesson number 4,” Ronan continues, drawing Adam’s attention back to his Love Lessons. “PDA is entirely allowed and encouraged.”

“Fuck off, Lynch.”

Ronan flashes a devilish smile. Adam stares, blinks, feels his heart stop and start again in the same second.

“Lesson number 5: Angry proclamations of love in busy restaurants are also entirely allowed and encouraged. Especially if creepy fuckers and their creepy robot bees are around to record said proclamations, so that the involved parties can watch them over and over again.”

“Fuck you, Lynch. Delete that fucking video.” Adam wraps his arms around Ronan’s neck and squeezes their chests together. He feels like he could burst.

Ronan hugs him back, just as fiercely. Adam’s lungs are crushed, but he thinks most of that is due to just being around Ronan in the first place, and only partly because of Ronan’s arms around his chest.

“I fucking love you, Adam,” he says, using his too-soft voice against Adam’s ear. “Too fucking much. I sometimes can’t breathe when I’m around you. Even when your demon hands are _not_ wrapped around my throat.”

Adam flinches, the hellish memory freezing his muscles. “Not fucking funny, Ronan.”

“I know, it’s fucking messed up, how much I love you. Even _when_ your demon hands are wrapped around my throat.”

Adam squeezes his eyes shut. His chest is going to explode. It’s going to be messy and it’s going to be irreversible.

“Ronan.”

A kiss against his jaw. “I love you.”

Adam sighs. “ _Ronan_.”

A kiss against his neck. “I love you, Adam. Fucking deal with it.”

Adam’s chest explodes, but it’s warm and pleasant and giving him life. He could live for centuries with Ronan’s words powering his lifeline. Adam smiles. “Lynch. Cut it out. I’m serious.”

“I can’t. It’s like word-vomit now. I love you. You make me fucking sick, Adam. I love you. Jesus _fuck_ , here it comes: I love you. Goddammit. _I love you_.”

Adam laughs and kisses Ronan. “I love you, too.” He kisses Ronan again. “I love you, Ronan.”

The words still taste strange on his tongue, but he can definitely get used to it. It’ll probably become his new favorite flavor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ronan says, his eyes bright, his smile infectious as a virus. “Now you’ve caught it, too. Word-vomiting all over the place. We’re fucking disgusting, Parrish.”

“Speak for yourself, I feel fine.”

Ronan snorts and ducks his face into Adam’s neck. “Tell me you’re not working today.”

Adam sighs. “Don’t ask then.”

“Fuck. What time?”

“Eleven.”

“Can we just lie here until then? Please. Opal can eat the furniture if she’s hungry.”

“Or...”

Ronan’s lips sharpen. “Or?”

Adam runs his hands up Ronan’s chest, and grins when Ronan squirms. “We could make out in this bed instead of just lying in it.”

Ronan’s eyes darken and Adam has to keep himself from launching at him. “Are you sure?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to freak out, I promise. Your lessons have done their job. Got anymore you’d like to share?”

“The fuck if I know, Parrish. I’m making this up along the way.”

“That’s reassuring. You’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching me something.”

Ronan lowers his face to Adam’s, but his nose grazes Adam’s cheek instead of lips kissing lips. “Even if you never wanted to touch me again, I’d still love you, Parrish. Just to make that clear.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on testing that particular theory.”

Ronan kisses his cheek, slightly closer to Adam’s mouth, but not close enough. “Adam.”

Adam sighs, only slightly exasperated by Ronan’s delay. “What.”

“I love you.”

In the last five minutes, Adam has heard those words more times than he’s ever heard them in his entire lifetime. He thinks he can probably fly if he jumps off a roof right now, but he’s not keen on testing that particular theory out either.

It’s probable that, if Ronan had never said those words, Adam would have continued on with his life, not knowing anything was missing. He still would have been ridiculously happy, knowing that Ronan silently confirmed them by his actions. But when it’s spoken in words—a medium that neither Adam nor Ronan would choose if given the choice—it adds an entirely new dimension to Adam’s happiness that he didn’t know he was allowed to have in the first place. Now that Adam knows it’s there, that he’s allowed to want it, he wants it with every cell of his being.

_Adam Parrish is loved. He is lovable. He is knowable, and he is loved._

“Don’t wear it out, Lynch,” he says, even though a selfish part of him wishes for the exact opposite. He wants to know if hearing those words will ever stop sending a ridiculous thrill through him. Trying something over again and expecting different results—someone once called that insanity, and Adam doesn’t disagree.

“Fuck you,” Ronan says with a smile. “I’m going to say it every fucking day, at random times just to throw you off. When you’re taking a piss in the woods—I love you, Parrish. When you’re scolding Opal for eating one of my shoes—Jesus Christ, Adam, I love you. When you’re zombie-walking home from work and grumpy and covered in grease—I love your goddamn bones. When you leave here to go to your high-collared school for nerds and inferior Gansey-clones—I will still really love you.”

Adam’s heart hurts and he has to close his eyes. His throat feels tight, but Ronan doesn’t say anything else, just scatters kisses against his face. _This_ , he thinks, _I am being cuddled by a snake_. But Ronan Lynch is not _just_ a snake. He’s the man who dreams of light, of soft-hearted brothers, of tender-loving hoofed girls, of flowers made from impossibly-blue petals. Adam feels another painful/pleasurable pinch in his chest.

_I am loved. By Ronan Lynch._

“You deserve to be told everyday,” Ronan says so softly that Adam almost doesn’t hear it. He feels it against his skin louder than through his ear. “How much you’re loved.”

“Ronan,” Adam says, his words strained. “Fucking kiss me already.”

Ronan does so, painfully slowly, but Adam doesn’t rush it. Just the feel of Ronan’s lips against his is enough. With Ronan’s words still ringing in his head and his heart and his soul, he’s never felt more at peace.

***

When Adam returns home late from his shift, Ronan and Opal are on the couch, fighting over something like a pair of children. Ronan meets Adam’s eye, smirks a bit in greeting, before continuing to squabble with Opal.

“Let go of it, he’s here. Jesus Christ—”

Opal hisses something venomous in Latin as Adam sits on the couch next to her. Ronan looks over her head at Adam, and scowls as Opal uses the distraction to yank the thing out of his hand. Adam notes, with confusion, that they were fighting over Ronan’s phone.

Opal scrambles into Adam’s side and drops the phone in his lap. She’s grinning and prodding at his leg.

“What is this?”

“Since your shitty phone doesn’t support RoboBee quality video, Cheng sent you something on mine,” Ronan says, standing from the couch and walking away. As he passes, he rests his hand on Adam’s head, running his fingers through Adam’s hair in a way that reminds him of that massage a few weeks ago. A pleasant tingle shimmies down his spine.

 As Ronan leaves the room, Opal grabs Adam’s arm and pushes the phone into his hand. Adam opens the video file from Henry. “Has Ronan seen this?” he asks Opal.

She nods and grins at him—Ronan’s grin—and Adam smiles stupidly back at her.

When the video starts playing, he’s met with the angry glare of Ronan Lynch staring at him. It’s ridiculous that even this frightening sight is enough to get his heart racing, making the already stupid smile on his face even stupider. The HD quality video outlines all of the savagely handsome lines on Ronan’s face and Adam can’t help but stare.

Holy shit, Adam really has caught some sort of virus, hasn’t he?

“Cheng, get your fucking bee out of my face,” Ronan says, swatting at it. “Don’t tell me you’re recording this, or I will crush this thing under my boot.”

“And here I was thinking that only Parrish got you all worked up like this,” Henry’s voice says somewhere off-camera. “I must say, your hostility is flattering, Lynch.”

Adam sees that they’re at Nino’s, probably today at dinner while Adam was working. Gansey is seated next to Ronan, Opal on the other side, Blue off working probably.

“I told you to get this thing the fuck away from me,” Ronan says, clawing at the bee, which dodges neatly out of the way. Henry laughs and Ronan roars, and then the Bee is flying a good distance away to avoid the Snake. The video shows Ronan standing to his feet, a positively murderous expression on his face.

“Sit down, Ronan,” says Gansey, glancing around at the other patrons.

“No, I will not fucking sit down,” Ronan snarls, drawing the attention of nearby patrons. Blue comes over, resting a hand on her hip and glaring at Ronan after glancing over her shoulder at her boss.

“Ronan,” she hisses. “You’re going to get everyone kicked out. What happened? Are you and Adam still fighting?”

The bee lowers a bit, but Ronan doesn’t try to swipe it out of the air. RoboBee zooms in on his face and Adam sees a foreign sort of flicker in his eye.

“No, we’re great.”

Adam’s heart snags on the word _great_. Not good, not fine, not okay—but _great_. Goddamn fucking great. Adam Parrish and Ronan Lynch. _Great_.

Gansey visibly wilts in relief against the seat. Blue lets out a small huff of satisfied air. Henry smirks. Opal—both the one in the video and the real one beside Adam—rolls her eyes.

 “Thank God,” Blue and Gansey whisper in sync.

“Now please,” Blue continues, glancing over her shoulder again, “calm down!”

“I can’t!” Ronan growls, clenching his fists.

“Let it out, Lynch,” Henry says, lounging in his bench as RoboBee lowers some more. “Catharsis, and whatnot. Cathart your anger out at us, man.”

Ronan glares. Patrons stare. RoboBee records. Adam holds his breath.

“There’s this thing Adam does,” Ronan hisses, all snake, some cuddle, “where he just leans against everything—like he’s too goddamn cool to stand up without something supporting him, you know? Which is fucking ironic, because he doesn’t let anyone else support him, but he lets fucking inanimate objects do it. It drives me insane. Like doesn’t he know how fucking attractive it is when he does that? Is he doing it on purpose—leaning against walls and chairs and shit whenever I’m around because he knows I like it, or does he really just have horrible posture? It’s the question of the goddamn century.”

Adam was holding his breath before, but now he seems to have misplaced it. He can’t tell if he’s dreaming or if this is a prank. His face feels hot, but it’s unclear if it’s from Ronan’s words, or the fact that this all feels horribly too familiar, or if it’s second-hand embarrassment, or if it’s the memory of his first-hand embarrassment from yesterday.

Somewhere, in the carefully-preserved parts of Adam’s memory, Noah Czerny cackles.

Ronan continues. “And then sometimes, he’ll just look at me for no reason and smile, and it feels like I’m dying on the inside—like what the fuck is that all about? Are his eyes venomous or something? Can someone tell me, because I just don’t understand?”

“Jesus, Lynch,” Gansey says, breathless and giddy. “Please go on. This is endlessly fascinating.”

“Don’t worry, Gansey boy,” Henry says, “I’ve got it all on tape.”

Blue glances over at her boss, but she’s smiling so large now that she doesn’t bother shooing Ronan out even though Nino is probably about to lose it.

“And he’s so goddamn hardworking—like he never takes a minute to just _breathe_. It pisses me off. I want to sit him down in a chair and give him a massage all the damn time, but he’s always like, “No, Lynch, I need to finish my homework, _God._ ” Like _I’m_ the fucking devil for suggesting he take a break. And then he goes and _leans_ against something. What the fuck, man. It just makes me so _angry_.”

“No one blames you,” Blue says, elbows resting on the back of Henry’s bench, all pretense of working set aside as she tucks her chin into her hand. Her smile is so goddamn pleased.

“And sometimes,” Ronan says, rolling his eyes, “he knocks on the door all timidly, like he’s afraid I’m going to slam it in his face when I see who it is. He acts like he’s a vacuum salesman, or whatever the fuck people sell door-to-door these days. Who the fuck does he think he is, that he thinks he has to _knock_ when he comes over?”

 _How rude,_ says Noah’s voice in Adam’s head, laughing at the world, but specifically at Adam and Ronan.

“And don’t even get me started on his accent,” Ronan says, snarling. Adam tenses, and he wonders if this is when Ronan is going to start actually complaining about real things now.

“It’s so fucking sexy.”

Adam chokes on his misplaced-but-now-suddenly-in-his-throat breath.

“It’s all vowels and missing g’s and shit, and I don’t know, it just feels like home and summer and sugar whenever he talks. Sometimes I can’t even focus on what he’s saying because his voice is too distracting, and then I have to pretend I’m ignoring him when I was really too distracted to pay attention to what he said in the first place. And it makes me feel like a goddamn idiot.”

Adam scoffs weakly. Blue, Gansey and Henry all nod thoughtfully. They are all clearly insane. All of Nino’s is staring at Ronan like he is a goddamn politician arguing for their rights for freedom, so all of them are also clearly insane.

“Is there more?” Henry asks. “Please tell me there’s more.”

“Tons,” Ronan says, “but we’d be here all night.”

Adam scoffs again, even weaker than before.

It clicks, too slowly, in Adam’s mind that Ronan set all this up with Henry’s help. Just another careless, but life-changing gift given by the Greywaren. But knowing this is all a set-up doesn’t make Ronan’s words any less paralyzing. Because Ronan Lynch doesn’t lie, not even to make Adam Parrish feel better. All of the things he’s saying might have been rehearsed, but it doesn’t make them any less true.

“But I’ll tell you the worst thing about Adam Parrish, the one thing that infuriates me the most,” Ronan continues, his voice lowering and drawing in the crowd like Adam imagines Niall Lynch's did when he was alive. “It’s how Adam still looks _surprised_ when I tell him I love him, as if it’s the most goddamn craziest thing I could possibly say. He would probably be less surprised if I told him I won the Nobel Peace Prize for preventing teens from street racing, or if I told him I wanted to move to the Bahamas to teach idiots how to surf, or if I told him that I like how cow farts smell. Like all of those things are more believable than the fact that I love him. It’s infuriating.”

And this time, Adam can tell how much this actually bothers Ronan because of how quiet his voice is all of a sudden—not yelling like before, but a low hum, like the slick engine of the BMW rather than the Pig’s obnoxious roar. His shoulders are dropped, his posture slouched, like he is backing away from a fight instead of starting one. He holds his hands loosely at his side, and video-Opal grabs one, just as real-Opal holds Adam’s.

“It’s infuriating,” Ronan says, staring at the table and frowning, “because he isn’t told nearly as much as he deserves to hear it.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Blue says softly. She beckons RoboBee towards her, and the video screen is filled with Blue’s lovely face. Once, this lovely face made Adam ache with longing, but now it just sends a wave of affection through him. “Adam, I love you. Not as much as Ronan Lynch does—obviously—but that’s probably for the best.”

RoboBee turns, making the video a blur of colors, until finally landing on Gansey’s genuinely smiling and genuinely somber face. It’s the face of a benevolent and gracious king with the weight of his people’s concerns on his shoulders.

“Adam Parrish,” he says, the strength in his voice forcing Adam to sit up straight. “I love you. Though I will have to confer with Ronan to confirm who loves you more, I’m sure I will win. After all, I knew you first, and you taught me how to fix the Pig by myself.”

There’s a scoff off-camera, and Adam thinks it might be a synchronized one from Blue, Ronan and Henry. Perhaps also Noah’s memory. Perhaps also Nino.

RoboBee zooms to Henry, who grins. “Hey, man. I love you. Haven’t I already told you that? I’m sure I have. You’re very nice to look at, and your accent is, like, very foreign to me, but I enjoy how it sounds—”

A dirty balled-up napkin hits Henry in the face. “Stop hitting on my boyfriend or I will crush you under my boot.”

Adam already feels like he’s going to die from a heart that’s too big, like the Grinch or some sort of horrible congenital disease, but then RoboBee turns to Opal, and he thinks he might die from too much love instead. Is that possible? Of all the things Adam Parrish could die of, he never would have guessed this would be it, and therefore had no real reason to research that possibility.  

“ _Te amo_ ,” Opal says simply, smiling. Adam grips the real-Opal’s hand, and she kisses his arm.

Then the video turns to Ronan’s savagely handsome face, and he is frowning a serious frown. “Parrish,” he greets, eyes meeting Adam’s through the screen. It’s not even like he’s staring at a robot bee—he’s only looking at Adam. “I love you.”

Adam’s body feels too hot. His heart is beating far too quickly to be healthy. Which is ridiculous because he’s already heard Ronan say this at least twenty times already (he’s not counting), but it still causes the same reaction.

Insanity: trying something over and over again and expecting different results.

Then, before Adam thinks he’s going to combust, RoboBee turns away from Ronan towards a red-faced Nino, wielding a pizza paddle and a dirty five-o’clock shadow. “Get out of my restaurant, you hormonal assholes! Find somewhere else for your angry love proclamations. Second time this damn week—”

The video feed disappears and Adam’s sanity with it. He leans his head against the back of the couch. The giddiness and the love and the _wholeness_ within him bursts out of his chest in the form of a laugh. So loud and free and happy that it carries for miles, and he knows Ronan can hear it from upstairs. Opal laughs with him. Adam finds, the longer he laughs, that he is no longer surprised by the sound of his own happiness.

*** 

Opal falls asleep on the couch after they watched the video on Ronan’s phone until the battery died. Adam covers her with a blanket, kisses her head, and goes upstairs where Ronan is lying in bed, arms folded beneath his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re such an asshole,” Adam says, climbing onto the bed and capturing Ronan’s mouth in a kiss before he can even open his eyes.

“Fuck,” is all Ronan says as clothing is removed and skin presses against skin. “ _Fuck_.”

“Shut up,” Adam says breathlessly, hands urgent and purposeful. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ronan says, just as breathless. “Parrish, _fuck_.”

Adam had been straddling Ronan’s hips, but now Ronan’s weight is on top of him, and he can’t remember when that happened, but he doesn’t care because _Christ_ , Ronan’s tongue. Ronan’s mouth. Ronan’s hands.

He and Ronan are great. Love is great. This—this is also really _fucking great_.

Ronan leaves wet kisses along Adam’s neck, trailing down to his chest. Adam grips Ronan’s bicep desperately. Hot breaths explode against his stomach, and then Ronan’s mouth skims along the hem of his boxers and Adam can’t feel his toes.

“Wait,” Adam says as Ronan slowly moves back up towards his stomach. Ronan pauses, looking up at Adam, both of them panting. “Don’t stop.”

Ronan’s eyes darken and Adam inhales sharply as Ronan cups him through his boxers, still looking at Adam, asking if this is okay. Adam groans, nods, too lost in the sensation to speak, and then his boxers are off and Ronan’s mouth is on him.

“Ronan, _fuck_ ,” Adam gasps, and he doesn’t even know if the sounds he’s making are human noises. Jesus fucking Christ. It feels so good. No, it feels _great_. It feels like paradise. Or hell—Adam is not entirely sure. Both. Definitely both. It’s Ronan’s tongue swirling around him, hands clenched around his hips, Ronan’s rough hair rubbing against his thighs.

Adam comes with a groan. Or perhaps it’s a shout, or a desperate plea, or a ragged _I love you_. Adam doesn’t know or care. He opens his eyes when Ronan’s weight jostles the bed and a chaste kiss drops on his bare shoulder. Adam blindly pulls Ronan to him and kisses him lazily, confused about why Ronan tastes like toothpaste when he was sure it had only been seconds since Ronan pulled up his boxers. He doesn’t know how long he kisses Ronan, or how long they’ve been on this bed, or how long Adam has been alive.

Apparently Ronan’s mouth can bend time.

“You okay, Parrish?” Ronan says, vaguely amused, definitely pleased, partially wary. 

“No.”

Ronan laughs. “Seriously. I took a shower twenty minutes ago and you haven’t moved since then. Did you fall asleep?”

Jesus Christ.  _Twenty_ minutes?

“I’m definitely not okay—I’m _great_ , Ronan. You’re great. We’re great. Everything is great. I love you. That’s especially great. You’re still an asshole, and I love you.”

Ronan kisses him and Adam lets his hands travel around this magnificent dreamer.

“You’re completely wrecked, Parrish,” Ronan says triumphantly. “Word-vomiting all over the place.”

Adam hums in agreement.

“Open your eyes. How many fingers am I holding up? Do you know what your name is?”

Adam opens his eyes. Ronan’s smiling smugly at him. “Fuck you, Lynch.”

“Jesus, what a horrible fucking name. Have you considered getting it changed?”

“God, shut up. Stop being so smug. Kiss me.”

Ronan teases him with kisses against his shoulder, knowing full well that isn’t what Adam meant. “You’re so fucking demanding,” he growls, but he doesn’t sound that upset about it.

Adam holds Ronan’s face in his hands. The smugness is gone, but the fondness is still there. It wrecks him more than Ronan’s time-bending mouth. “You think my accent is sexy, huh, Lynch?”

Ronan scoffs, but his cheeks get pink. He doesn’t say anything because no answer is never the wrong answer.

Adam grins. “Like sugar and summer and home, hmm, Ronan?”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Fucking _make_ me.”

Ronan smiles, slow and sexy, and then starts humming some Irish jig—Adam’s favorite. Goddamn him, how did he know? Ronan’s grin grows as Adam does indeed shut up, then he laughs and kisses him. “I love you.”

Adam’s heart stops. “Okay.”

Ronan frowns at his reaction. “Stop thinking, Parrish. Turn off your brain.”

“I did, and I ended up losing twenty minutes of my life that I'll never get back.”

Ronan smirks. “You’re so fucking stupid. But I love you anyway. Get used to it.”

“Get used to being stupid?”

Ronan groans.

“We should probably get Henry some sort of gift. Maybe you can dream RoboBee a boyfriend.”

“And allow Cheng the opportunity to be doubly creepy? No fucking way.”

Adam laughs and pulls Ronan down beside him, their limbs becoming a tangled pair of earphones. Adam exhales against Ronan’s collarbone and presses his nose to Ronan’s clean skin. Ronan’s fingers find his hair. He plays with Adam’s earlobe and smoothens Adam’s eyebrow. Arms wrap tighter around torsos, legs battle for dominance, lips accidentally-on-purpose find each other. Adam laughs, Ronan hisses, both of them are a bit breathless.  

Adam understands the power of words, but he also understands the power of silences. His head is quiet, his heart is pounding, and unspoken words echo around the hollows of his chest. _Ronan loves me. I love Ronan. Everything is great._

_I am happy._

 

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of Pynch fics don't have the boys saying I love you to each other, choosing instead to show it through their actions, which is all good and everything, but I refuse to believe that's the end of it. Or they have Ronan being the one with bigger problems saying it, but I also refuse to believe that is true. Ronan grew up with two loving parents and two loving brothers. Adam did not. It's as simple as that. Feel free to discuss below. 
> 
> (Yes, I am aware these are fictional characters and do not exist in real life, thank you very much for your concern.)
> 
> This weird fic goes out to anyone affected by the Orlando shootings, and anyone who hasn't been told enough how much they're loved. You are. I love you.
> 
> EDIT: A lot of people are angry about Ronan's anger, and I understand because Ronan is definitely one of everyone's favorites and it's easy to make him seem like a perfect angel all the time. However, I think it's important to note that Ronan is NOT perfect, he also has flaws, and he also suffers from some trauma, seeing as he found his father lying in a pool of blood. Whether or not you agree if Ronan's anger is justified, I would like to say that it was also a reaction of self-defence, BEFORE he understood why Adam was acting the way he was acting. He didn't understand how far the emotional effects of Adam's abuse reached, and whether or not you think that is canonically-accurate to Ronan's understanding of Adam, that is how I chose to write it. I'm really sorry if anyone is offended. That was obviously not my intent. If you disagree with my interpretation of Ronan, then there's nothing I can do about that and I will not apologize for my difference in opinion. 
> 
> I have said pretty much all I am willing to say in the comment section regarding the matters in the fic. I would appreciate if people could refrain from engaging in back-and-forth comment debates NOT DIRECTLY pertaining to the matters of the story, as it clutters up the comment section (and my inbox, for that matter) and detracts from the real issues that were presented. Thanks for everyone's input.


End file.
